«Yes».
«I’ve never been able to believe all this astrology and palmistry business,» he said. «It doesn’t hold water».
She did not answer, and so he continued. «Let’s leave hands for a minute and get down to personalities». The brandy was warming him; he felt far from ill now. «You mean you think each individual man’s life is different and has its own pattern, as you call it?»
«Yes, of course».
«But that’s impossible!» he cried. «It stands to reason. Just look around you. There never was any mass production to compare with the one that turns out human beings — all the same model, year after year, century after century, all alike, always the same person». He felt a little exalted at the sound of his own voice. «You might say there’s only one person in the world, and we’re all it».
She was silent for a moment; then she said: «Rubbish». What he was saying made her vaguely angry. She wondered if it were because she resented his daring to express his ideas at all, but she did not think it was that.
«Look, my pet,» she said in a conciliatory tone, «just what do you want in life?»
«That’s a hard question,» he said slowly. She had taken the wind out of his sails. «I suppose I want to feel I’m getting something out of it».
She was impatient. «That doesn’t mean anything».
«I want to feel I’m alive, I guess. That’s about all».
«Great God in heaven. Give me some more brandy».
They let the subject drop, turning to the storm and the climate in general. He was thinking that he should have answered anything that came to mind: money, happiness, health, rather than trying to say what he really meant. As an accompaniment to these thoughts there recurred the image of his room back at the Hotel de la Playa, with its spotted bedspread, its washstand that gurgled.
«He has nothing, he wants nothing, he is nothing,» thought Daisy. She felt she ought to be sorry for him, but somehow he did not evoke pity in her — rather, a slight rancor which neutralized her other emotions. Finally she stood up. «We must see what has happened to Luis and Jack».
They found them in the drawing room talking.
«Which eucalyptus was it?» said Daisy. «I know it was one of them».
The Marques frowned. «The great one by the gate. It’s not the whole tree. Only one branch, but a big one, the one overhanging the road. The road is blocked».
«Why do they always manage to fall into the road?» demanded Daisy.
«I don’t know,» said Wilcox. «But it screws me up fine. How am I going to get out of here?»
She laughed merrily. «You and Mr. Dyar,» she said, with very clear enunciation, «will spend the night, and in the morning you’ll call for a taxi. It’s that simple».
«Out of the question,» said Wilcox irritably.
«I assure you no taxi will come now, in this weather. That goes without saying. And it’s eight kilometers to walk».
He had no answer to this.
«There are plenty of rooms for just such emergencies. Now, stop fretting and make me a whiskey and soda». She turned to Dyar and beamed.
When she had been served, Wilcox said shortly: «What about it, Dyar? Same for you?» Dyar looked quickly at him, saw that he seemed annoyed. «Please». Wilcox handed him his drink without turning to face him. «That’s easy,» Dyar thought. «He’s afraid I’m getting on too well with her».
They talked about the house. «You must come back sometime during the daylight and see the rose garden,» said Daisy. «We have the most divine rose garden».
«But what you’ve really got to see is that glass bedroom,» said Wilcox, leaning back in his chair and yawning toward the ceiling. «Have you seen that?»
The Marques laughed uncomfortably.
«No, he hasn’t,» Daisy said. She rose, took Dyar’s arm. «Come along and see it. It’s a perfect opportunity. Jack and Luis will discuss the week’s bankruptcies».
The bedroom reminded Dyar of a vast round greenhouse. He scuffed at the zebra skins scattered about on the shining black marble floor. The bed was very wide and low, its heavy white satin spread had been partially pulled back and the sheets were turned down. The place was a gesture of defiance against the elements that clamored outside the glass walls; he felt distinctly uncomfortable. «Anybody could see in, I should think,» he ventured.
«If they can see all the way from Spain». She stood staring down toward the invisible waves that broke on the rocks below. «This is my favorite room in the world,» she declared. «I’ve never been able to abide being away from the sea. I’m like a sailor, really. I take it for granted that salt water is the earth’s natural covering. I must be able to see it. Always». She breathed deeply.
«What’s this act all about?» he thought.
«It’s a wonderful room,» he said.
«There are orange trees down in the garden. I call the place Hesperides because it’s here to this mountain that Hercules is supposed to have come to steal the golden apples».
«Is that right?» He tried to sound interested and impressed. Since he had started on the whiskey he had been sleepy. He had the impression that Wilcox and the Marques would be coming upstairs any minute; when they came he felt that Daisy and he ought not to be found standing here in her bedroom in this tentative, absurd attitude. He saw her stifle a yawn; she had no desire to be showing him the room anyway. It was merely to irk Wilcox, a game they were in together. It occurred to him then that it might be fun to play around a little with her, to see which way the wind was blowing. But he was not sure how to begin; she was a little overwhelming. Something like: That’s a big bed for one small person. She would probably reply: But Luis and I sleep here, my dear. Whatever he said or did she would probably laugh.
«I know what you’re thinking,» she said. He started a bit. «You’re sleepy, poor man. You’d like to go to bed».
«Oh,» he said. «Well» —
A youngish woman hurried into the room, calling: «On peut entrer?» Her clothes were very wet, her face glistened with rain. She and Daisy began a lively conversation in French, scraps of which were thrown to Dyar now and then. She was Daisy’s secretary, she was just returning from a dance, the taxi had been obliged to stop below the fallen tree, but the driver had been kind enough to walk with her to the house and was downstairs now having a cognac, she was soaked through, and did anyone want the cab?
«Do we!» cried Dyar, with rather more animation than was altogether civil. Immediately he felt apologetic and began to stammer his thanks and excuses.
«Rush downstairs, darling. Don’t stop to say good night. Hurry! I’ll call you tomorrow at the office. I have something to talk to you about».
He said good night, ran down the stairs, meeting the Marques on the way.
«Jack is waiting for you outside. Good night, old boy,» said the Marques, continuing to climb. When he reached the top of the stairs, Daisy was blowing out the candles along the wall. «Estamos salvados,» she said, without looking up. «Qué gentuza más aburrida,» sighed the Marques.
She continued methodically, holding her hand carefully behind each flame as she blew on it. She had the feeling her evening had somehow gone all wrong, but at what point it had begun to do that she could not tell.
The malevolent wind struck out at them as they fought their way to the taxi. They crawled under one end of the great branch that lay diagonally across the road. The driver had some difficulty turning the car; at one point he backed into a wall and cursed. When they were on their way, going slowly down the dark mountain road, Wilcox said: «Well, did you see the bedroom?»